


Intervention

by PlanetClare



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics), winterwidow - Fandom
Genre: Anxiety, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Cats, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Caring, Conflict, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Intervention, Love, Protective Sam Wilson, Regrets, Trust Issues, supportive Natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:56:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8321794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlanetClare/pseuds/PlanetClare
Summary: Natasha Romanov is worried about Bucky Barnes’ well-being and enlists assistance for the assassin.





	

When Natasha returned home just after 6:00 Thursday morning, it was following a 3-day covert mission for Nick Fury. She was tired and looking forward to getting some sleep.

She placed her car keys on the look by the front door, removed her brown leather jacket, and walked down the hall toward her bedroom thinking that she’d spend a few minutes with Bucky before showering and going to bed.

‘Maybe he’ll join me in both,’ she thought with a sly smile.

However, when she entered the bedroom, she saw that he was not there.

Normally, Bucky rose every morning before 5:00 and either let himself silently into Steve’s apartment to use his weight room, or he went for a jog before then sum came up. Usually, he was back at her place no later than 7:00.

‘Perhaps he’s still at Steve’s,’ she surmised. 

It was then that she heard an all too familiar sound coming from her bathroom. Through the closed door, she could hear Bucky violently vomiting. She knew that he was not ill. In fact, in all the time that she knew him, she could not recall a time when the assassin was ever sick. She knew that the only time he ever vomited was when he had a particularly traumatic nightmare.

Just as Natasha was about to knock on the door, she heard Bucky flush the toilet.

Stepping over to the sink, he turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face. After patting it dry with a towel, he brushed his teeth and then opened the door.

“Oh, hey! You’re home,” he said smiling down at her.

Flatly, she replied, “Yeah, I’m back – just in time to hear you puking your guts out in there.”

Bucky’s smile faded quickly as he became tense.

“James, you’ve _got_   to see someone about the nightmares,” the concerned spy urged.

“I _told_   you – I don’t need to see anyone. I’m fine,” he insisted as he stood facing her.

“I don’t believe you, my love,” she countered.

“I’m FINE – end of discussion. I’m going to make breakfast,” he said turning on his heels and walking down the hall wearing nothing but a pair of Barnes tartan pajama bottoms.

Concerned for his well-being, Natasha pulled her cell phone from the back pocket of her jeans and pressed a number in her contacts list. After a few rings, she heard a voice on the other end of the line.

“Hello?” the voice said.

“Sam? It’s me. Did I wake you?”

“Hey, ‘Tasha! No, I’m just finishing up my morning jog. What’s going on?”

“I need your help. It’s James,” she said on the verge of tears.

Fearing the worst, he asked, “‘Tasha, are you all right? Did he do something to you?”

“What? NO! I’m fine, but _he’s_ not. I think he had another nightmare – a bad one. When I got back this morning, he was throwing up, and he only does that when he’s in a _really_ bad way.”

“‘Tasha, he needs to see someone professional,” Sam advised.

“I _know,_ but he doesn’t even want to talk to _me._ There’s NO WAY he’ll see a professional. Sam, you and James were both soldiers. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

“I thought the therapy cat was helping.”

“Sébastien? He helps to keep James calm and I’ve noticed that he has fewer nightmares, but not even the cat can help with some of the more traumatic ones. Sam, please help me,” she pleaded.

Sam realized that Natasha must be desperate if she was begging. He knew how hard it was for the stoic, self-sufficient Russian spy to ask for help.

Hearing the desperation in her voice, he asked, “What’s he doing now?”

“He’s in the kitchen making breakfast.”

“I’ll be over in 10.”

“Thank you, Sam!” Natasha said with relief and then ended the call.

As she entered the kitchen, she saw Bucky standing at the stove.

Without looking at her, he said, “I’m making eggs. You want yours scrambled or over easy?” He spoke as if nothing had happened.

She sat at the table and stared at him for a moment before replying.

“I’m not hungry.”

Sensing that she was upset, Bucky asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Weren’t you just throwing up, James?”

Bucky froze. Staring down at the frying eggs, he sighed.

“Nat, please don’t start again.”

“I’m only asking because I care.”

“I’m fine, Nat. There’s no need to worry,” he insisted as he moved the eggs to a plate.

“Well, I _do_ worry and if you’re _‘fine,’_   why are you vomiting?” she countered.

Turning away from her, he quietly replied, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But –”

“You sure you don’t want eggs?” he interrupted. “If not, at least have some toast. Better yet, you should go to bed. You must be tired,” he suggested changing the subject.

Realizing there was no getting through to him, Natasha decided to drop the subject and wait for Sam.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Natasha glanced at the clock on the wall as she sat across from Bucky watching him eat eggs and occasionally toss a piece of the toast to his cat, Sébastien, who sat lovingly at his feet.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

Bucky looked at Natasha and then at the clock.

“It’s kind of early for visitors, isn’t it?” he asked rhetorically.

“I’ll get it,” she said as she started to rise from her chair.

“No! Let me,” he replied as he raised his hand to stop her.

As he walked to the door, Sébastien followed close behind.

Sliding to the side the covering over the door’s peep hole, Bucky was surprised by who he saw standing on the other side.

He opened the door slowly and asked, “Sam? What are you doing here?”

In all the time that he knew Sam, Bucky could not recall him ever visiting Natasha’s apartment. The assassin began to grow suspicious.

“Hey, man! Good morning. I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d stop by for a visit,” Sam replied.

After Natasha’s call, he had showered and quickly dressed in a navy blue t-shirt, blue jeans and a black leather jacket.

“A visit? At 6:00 in the morning?” remarked Bucky.

“You know, I think I’ll go to Starbucks,” Natasha stated as she rose and quickly strode toward the door.

“Wait...What?” asked Bucky in dismay.

“Bye, boys!” she said as she grabbed her jacket, walked between the two men, and stepped into the hallway.

“Nat!” Bucky called behind her.

Glancing over her shoulder, the red head gave him a look which said, ‘I’m sorry.’

Bucky stared at her until she disappeared around the corner at the end of the hall.

The two men stood in the doorway staring at each other for a few moments.

“Mind if I come in?” Sam finally asked.

Bucky stepped backward to give him more room to enter.

“Sorry to interrupt your breakfast,” he remarked.

As Bucky followed him to the kitchen, he realized it wasn’t a random, social visit.

“So, how have you been doing, man?” Sam asked as the two men sat at the table.

“Did you really come over here this early to inquire about my health?” the assassin asked.

“There you go answering a question with another question, and it’s your _mental_ health that I’m concerned about.”

“Look, how about you get to the point here?” Bucky suggested.

“She’s really worried about you, you know. We ALL are.”

 _“‘We?’_   Who is _‘we,’_   Sam?”

“‘Tasha, Steve, me...”

“I’m gonna tell you what I told her. There’s no need to worry. I’m fine,” Bucky replied becoming annoyed.

“There’s no shame in asking for help. We’re soldiers. Most of us lost something during the wars.”

“Yeah? Well, some of us lost more than others,” Bucky snapped.

He stared across the table at Sam and watched as his friend’s eyes moved from meeting his gaze to looking at his cybernetic arm.

As Sébastien leapt into his lap, Bucky looked down at him and began to gently stroke his head.

The black feline softly purred peering up at him lovingly with his large green eyes.

“I’m just saying that we all need someone to talk to now and then. It helps clear your head and keep you...sane.”

“You know something, Sam? You’re not a psychiatrist, so you’re no one to go messing with other people’s heads,” sniped Bucky.

After a moment of thought, Sam replied, “You’re right. I’m _not_ a psychiatrist, but I can tell when a fellow soldier is in pain or need. You and I have experienced some of the same emotions: loss, doubt, anger –”

“Oh, really?” Bucky interrupted. “‘The same emotions?’ So, you know what it’s like to tragically lose an arm and deal with phantom pain and discomfort? You know what it’s like to wake up in the middle of the night with your metal hand around your girlfriend’s throat because you were having a nightmare and thought she was a target or a threat? Do you see the people that you killed standing in front of you on an almost nightly basis? Have you died a couple of times only to be brought back to life like a Frankenstein monster? I went on trial for betraying the country that I swore an oath to protect. The only reason I’m here now instead of rotting in prison is because the judge saw that I was innocent by reason of brainwashing. I can count my friends on one hand and have a few fingers left over. Most of the people I know hate or mistrust me. The few who don’t, pity me. So, go ahead, Sam. Tell me again how we’re alike. Tell me how we’ve experienced ‘the same emotions.’”

The two men sat staring at each other for a few moments. Sam could see the anguish on Bucky’s face. He did not want the younger soldier to think that he pitied him. He also worried what he might do if he pushed him too far.

Using a calming tone, Sam quietly replied, “Bucky, you’ve been through an awful lot – more than anyone could ever imagine – but ‘Tasha and I are only trying to help _because_ we know what you’ve been through.”

Bucky let out a sharp laugh.

“You think you know what I’ve been through? Out of everyone I know, Nat comes the closest to knowing what my life has been like. Just like the super soldier assassin program, Soviet Hydra’s black widow spy program had its own set of horrors, but not even Nat can fully understand what I’ve been through. After she left the program to marry Alexi Shostakov, my life got even more dismal.”

“No one’s diminishing or denying that, man. God knows _I’m_ not,” Sam assured him.

Bucky sat silently thinking things over. He realized that Sam and Natasha’s concern was probably well-founded, and he thought about how Steve told him on more than one occasion that he should try to be nicer to others.

Bucky let out a long sigh and said, “I have an edge. I know that and won’t apologize for it. I don’t need help. Anyone who’s been through _half_  of what I’ve been through is bound to have nightmares. It’s to be expected.”

“Yeah, but –”

“Well, okay then. I just need you and Nat to lighten up a little. I have a therapy cat and I’m feeling better. Case closed.”

“Then, why are you still vomiting?” Sam asked quietly.

Bucky stared at Sam for what felt like an eternity.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Sam?” asked Bucky to signal that the conversation was over.

“Just promise me that if you ever need anything – anything at all – you’ll reach out to your friends. Like I said, we’re all here for you. You don’t have to suffer in silence or feel that you’re all alone,” Sam offered earnestly.

“Thanks,” Bucky replied still staring across the table.

“Well, I’ll let you get on with your day,” Sam remarked as he stood and began to walk toward the door.

Putting Sébastien on the floor, Bucky rose and followed him.

As he opened the door, Sam looked back at Bucky and advised, “Just remember what I said about reaching out.”

“I will, Sam,” he replied sincerely.

When Sam reached the bottom of the stairs, he pulled out his cell phone and selected a contact.

“Hello?”

“Hey, ‘Tasha. His heels are dug in. I did what I could. Now, it’s up to him to open up.”

“Thank you, Sam. I appreciate it,” Natasha replied sadly.

As she ended the call, she placed her phone on the table in front of her. Drinking the last sip of her coffee, she rose, put her phone in the pocket of her jacket, and tossed the cup into the trash can. Just before she reached the coffee shop’s door, she heard her phone buzz to signal that she had a text message.

Pulling out her phone, she read the text and responded.

 **SoldierBoy:** He’s gone. You can come home now.

 **BigRed:** Be right there.

Climbing the stairs to her apartment, Natasha did not know what to expect when she got there. As she stepped through the door, she saw that Bucky was washing the breakfast dishes as Sébastien nibbled at what was left in his food bowl.

“Hey,” she said tentatively.

“Hey,” Bucky replied without looking at her.

Natasha placed her cell phone on the kitchen table and sat facing him.

“Are we okay?” she asked hesitantly and fearing the worst.

Bucky turned to her and shrugged his shoulders.

“We’re good,” he said accepting that she only called Sam because she cared.

She let out a sigh of relief and smiled sheepishly at him.

"I’m sorry. I only wanted to –”

“Come on. Let’s go get showered,” he offered as he took her hand and led her through the living room.

Natasha knew that Bucky would probably never overcome the trauma that tormented him, but at least now he knew how committed she was to doing whatever it took to bring him comfort.

**Author's Note:**

> © 2016 Planet Press
> 
> The Marvel characters herein are the property of Marvel Comics which retains the rights. The character of Sébastien the Cat was created by this author.


End file.
